Ever After
by dance-of-the-butterflies
Summary: A series of one shots on Arthur and Ariadne, post movie. Enjoy and review!
1. Perfection

My first Inception fic! Ha. I hope you guys like it.

Inception is the brainchild of Christopher Nolan (who is a total GENIUS.) so I don't own it, or Arthur or Ariadne. But they are ADORABLE together.

For all those people out there who love Arthur who's so incredibly old school cute (:

* * *

They stand together, clutching matching coffee cups even as they look out over the river together, with the Eiffel Tower standing in the distance. She is laughing at a story that he recounts for her, from his old days with Cobb and he discovers that her laughter, is rather like the ripples of water that catch the afternoon sunlight- a pleasant and beautiful sound that makes him want to smile too. She is dressed in a huge overcoat that dwarfs her small frame- his overcoat- and the wind blows, ruffling her hair and barely touching his neatly slicked back do. He smiles, as he thinks the same thought that he has been running through his head all week, like a half forgotten childhood rhyme that he has recently remembered.

_I could do this. I could be with her forever. _

He doesn't say this out loud though. No. Arthur does not do mushy. Or poetic. He leaves that to Eames (although the thought of Eames saying this to _her _gives him an uncomfortable, squirming sensation in the bottom of his gut that he tries very hard to ignore.)

Instead he settles for another sip of coffee, and she mirrors his action with hers, her eyes losing their laughing edge even as she gazes up at him.

Every part of him is so impeccable, so neatly groomed. From his hair to his clothes, from the way he stands, proud and tall- almost like a statue carved out of marble standing in the sun before her- that she feels a sudden pang at herself- standing small and almost insignificant next to him. And yet under that seemingly calm exterior she knows- the phrase, "Still waters run deep," spring to mind."- so many thoughts, so much knowledge is whirring about in him. How is it possible, she wonders to herself. How can it be, that someone can possibly be so perfect and know… everything?

She is so lost in her thoughts that she fails to see that she is crushing her cup of coffee in her hand, the last drops falling, falling, falling into the river below her- until his hand, warm and gentle removes the crushed paper from her fist with a quizzical and bemused smile. She watches his retreating back as he throws the both cups away, and that's where the challenge is born in her mind.

When he walks back, he's surprised to see her eyes shining again. But pleasantly and gladly surprised. He could have sworn a minute ago that she was thinking of something unpleasant, from the way her eyes clouded over and a pensive expression took over. He wished he'd been better with women- skipping over those few affairs which never ever came into the realm of dating. Perhaps then he would have known how best to comfort her, how to make sure that expression never came back. He had sighed then, at his own incompetence and idiocy, making sure to wipe off his frustration before turning back to her.

But now here she is, standing in front of him, with what can only be described as a teasing smile- a smile that propels him to ask, "What is it?"

"I want to put you up to the test," She juts her chin out at him, hands on her hips, and heaven help him, but he can't help but find her extremely adorable just at that moment. "I want to see, if you know everything."

She draws out the last word and her smile is so infectious that he can't help but smile back at her before tilting his own head to the side, mirroring her posture and raising his eyebrow in a silent acceptance of the challenge.

"The River Seine is 486 miles long, its name originated from Latin… it means sacred. And…"

He looks over to see her silently shake her head, and he stops, puzzled. When she speaks again, her voice is softer, almost as if she's self-conscious of the next words that fall from her lips, "Tell me everything you know about me."

That's easy. He watches her even as all the information he'd gathered on her when they were working together starts spilling easily from his mouth. It should be. He remembers how thorough he was in her case- perhaps more thorough than he usually was- but he'd ignored that little detail. He found that he'd wanted to know _everything_ he could have found out about her, where she was born, did she have siblings, when she was younger, had she wanted to be an astronaut first or a doctor or an architect immediately, whether she'd had any boyfriends in the past. Not that _that_ would bother him. He just wants to know.

Even as he talks about the puppy she had when she was 7, she slowly moves closer to him. She knows that there's another reason why he knows so much about her, not just for the sake of research and she wants to know what it is. Better, she wants to hear him say it out loud.

And so she reaches up and touches his lips gently, stilling the information that he's sharing with her, and in that simple gesture, she can feel his entire body go still too- something that sends simultaneous shivers down her own spine.

She catches his dark eyes, which are already locked on hers. "Tell me everything you know about me, that doesn't come from a computer, a public source or the internet."

He looks away then, even as her arm drops back to her side, falling silent for a while. She too is quiet, expectant. Wanting to hear more and hoping- he has more to tell. She knows it's hard for him, him whose whole world has been the facts, statistics but she wants to know more. She looks away too, biting her lip and wondering if she should have asked such a brazen question in the first place.

"When you start work, you always tuck a pencil behind your ear and forget it's there till half way through."

She turns back to him, a tentative smile gracing her lips. And he meets her eyes, smiling more confidently now even as he pulls out all the thoughts he'd had on her ever since he met her.

"On Mondays to Wednesdays, you smell of peaches. On Thursdays to Sundays you smell of strawberries." She smiles guiltily then; she has this bad habit of switching shampoos to keep things from getting boring. "You like to hum _Somewhere Over the Rainbow _under your breath."

This time he steps closer. He wishes he could find more words to tell her how he think she's the most beautiful girl he's ever met, and he wishes they could have met earlier. Instead he settles for touching the side of her cheek. "You'v e a little dimple here," He lets his fingers touch the little dent softly, moving his fingers down the side of her jaw until they rest on her chin and he senses her sharp intake of breath that makes him want to grin in a manner that would be so unlike him.

"And…" He uses his other hand to push back a lock of hair that has fallen across her face. "You always look like you're going to hyperventilate when I'm going to kiss you."

Her eyes widen then and her mouth opens in an instinctive protest but he doesn't let her get the words out- just closes his mouth over hers in a gentle kiss. This is so much different from the dream- in his dream, where the projections were staring at them and the kiss was nothing more than a brushing of lips. But perhaps it was from that simple kiss that hooked him. He feels her kiss him back- that in itself sends a million emotions spiralling through him, like an out of control firework and he deepens it, forgetting for a moment, his restraint, his control, everything. Just her.

Finally they break away and her arms are still around him. Not that he's complaining. He likes them this way. That's where they should be. She buries her face in his shirt and inhales the smell of Old Spice and something that just reminds her of him, feeling his arms close around her too and his lips touching the top of her head once again and she smiles against the fine linen.

"I do not look like I'm about to hyperventilate every time you kiss me." She mumbles into his chest to hide her blush and as muffled as the words come out, she can feel the laughter rumble through his body. She loosens her hold on him and leans away to look up better into his face.

"Well then," He raises an eyebrow in a way that she can only describe as mischievous. "I guess we should rectify that situation." He says it so matter of factly- almost like forecasting the weather that she only grasps what he's really saying a few seconds later that causes another smile to break across her face.

And as his lips meet hers in another heart stopping kiss, she admits, grudgingly that perhaps he does know everything. And that perhaps this kind of perfection can be possible.

* * *

Cute. Hehe. I'm thinking of writing another chapter. Let me know what you think! Review (:


	2. Sleepless

Second chapter up! I hope you guys like it (:

As always I dont own Inception, Arthur or Ariadne. :/

This is too all the people who love the genius young Ariadne. (:

* * *

The pillows are suffocating her, the bed sheets are wrapping themselves around her legs and it feels as though her bed is turning into some mass murder machine.

With a loud frustrated sigh, she kicks off the remaining covers and pillows until the bed is completely clear of all else and then she lies back down, curling herself into a ball. Of course this would happen. Eames and Cobb warned her of this back before they'd even embarked on the job and she'd argued back that she'd be too tired to even dream. Eames and Cobb had just given her the we-know-better-than-you look, which pissed her off- she hated feeling young and inexperienced in this team even though that's what she was. But Arthur who'd been standing nearby had simply given her a small weary smile that suggested the truth of it and yet his eyes were gentle. As if saying, _but when it does happen, it's okay. I'll be here. _

But she'd blinked and the moment had passed even as Arthur drew Eames and Cobb away to discuss some last minute information he'd pulled up on Fischer. The next time Arthur had looked at her, his eyes were polite, asking the same question that his mouth was, "Have you seen my pen?"

She sat up then. That was it; she couldn't bear to be alone any more. It was freaking 4 am in the morning and she had classes at 8 am tomorrow. As she shoved herself off the bed, and started yanking books, papers, keys into the nearest bag she could find. Her hands were busy and her mind was racing but she couldn't keep a lid on the panic that was rising in her as quickly as floodwaters did. Nor could she block out the question in her head: What if it's always like this? What if this is my life from now on? She struggled not to cry, to keep a lid on it all and barely succeeded, her actions becoming jerkier and everything just becoming messier as she grabbed random items and shoved them into her bag.

She slung the bag over one shoulder, tugged on his overcoat- which was hers now, since she wore it practically everywhere she went and pulled on sneakers as she flew out of the apartment.

It didn't take her long to reach his place, a small room just two blocks off her apartment. By then, she was crying already, wordlessly and soundlessly, just letting the tears stream down her face. It felt good, it felt normal- perhaps it would be the last semblance of normality after this damned inception had screwed up her mind, her sleeping patterns and her life and so she didn't bother to brush them away.

She stood before his door, panting slightly from the walk (actually it was more of a run) and suddenly feeling a stab of trepidation. What if he was asleep? She shouldn't barge in now and disturb whatever precious sleep he managed to get. And it was 4am in the morning. Which sane, normal guy would let in a near-hysterics girl at 4am in the morning?

And yet Arthur wasn't normal. He would understand.

With that thought emboldening her, she knocked.

* * *

That knock on his door could only come from one person.

He pushes back the covers hastily, throwing down the book that he'd been reading and he pads in his bare feet across the room till he reaches the door to open it.

There she stands in his overcoat and sneakers and carrying her ratty messenger bag that hasn't been zipped up and has papers, books and a pen sticking out of it. Her hair is unbrushed, such that clumps of it stick out and her eyes are rimmed red and tear tracks shine on her cheeks. She looks tired, worn out- so much like a little girl- and even he can see, and sense the waves of panic and fear radiating off her and the unspoken questions that are flying around in her head.

"Morning," He hates himself even as he greets her formally-just something ingrained in him- and he longs to reach out and pull her into his arms and comfort her. Instead he just touches her shoulder lightly. "Why don't you come in?"

She has to give it to him, acting as if it is nothing out of the blue for weird girls to be showing up on his doorstep at 4am. Perhaps it isn't. She stays where she is, and swallows. "Will it always be like _this_?" Try as she might, her voice breaks on the last word. She cannot imagine a lifetime of not being able to rest- especially when she needs it so much.

He cannot stand the haunted look in her eyes, the way she looks especially small and fragile just standing in his doorway as if a gentle gust of wind will blow her to bits. For that brief insane minute, he hates Dom. Hates him for pulling this girl- his girl- into this freaking mess and leaving her like this to get back to the life he's dreamed of for so long. Yet his mind knows this is not the time to get angry.

He takes her hands then, which are cold, looks her in the eye. "No."

He pulls her in then, unbuttons her overcoat and lays it over the chair for her, as if she is a child. And she lets him. For once he doesn't see her as the young, capable, strong woman that he'd worked with on the Fischer case, but he sees her as someone he loves and needs desperately to protect. He kneels down by her to undo her laces and pull off her shoes and it's only when he looks up that he realizes she is looking at him with an unreadable expression. Before he can decipher what it is, she reaches forwards and wraps her arms so tightly around him.

She can feel the tears again, this time hot and steady, flowing down her cheeks, drenching his shirt. She cannot stop crying; she feels embarrassment, a heavy burden in her chest too at the way she is acting but it is as if a dam has broken and she cannot stop the fear and the panic that sweeps through her body. Yet she feels his arms close around her body too and she knows that it is alright. That he will be here to walk her through it. And that in this crazy world where she's not sure of what's reality, he's offering to be her totem to anchor her to the truth.

* * *

After which, they more or less move in together.

She is so tired of being alone at night- indeed night is the loneliest, quietest period and she doesn't want to be left alone with her thoughts. She knows her mother would object violently if she knew her daughter was moving in with some strange man. But this isn't any strange man. It's Arthur and she knows that he will protect her, compelled by the same gallantry that will keep anything else from happening between them both.

Slowly the sleek minimalist look that his apartment once had is blurring, taken over by her clutter and messes that happens when she has a school project and deadlines to meet. She tries to be tidy, she really does, and yet it's not always easy. Guilt propels her sometimes to ask if she should move out, but his answer (a dark furious look and a kiss that steals her breath away)shows that its futile to think he would let her move out.

In fact he'd rather die than admit to her, but he actually doesn't mind the mess she makes.

It makes things seem more real, that finally for once he is not alone. The mess shows that there is life, there is someone else here, sharing his life with him and he doesn't have to be by himself anymore. He used to in the dark of the night when he couldn't sleep, watch the city and the empty streets from his window, watching the traffic lights blink for imaginary cars and bikes and pedestrians. And he used to feel like the king of this world: where he was the only one. And even as he enjoyed that little fantasy, it was lonely. Now he doesn't have to. There's the two of them and it's the best feeling he could have ever had.

Yet sometimes he wishes that it was still those days where he was awake-alone. He hates to see her suffer, hates to hear the rustle of sheets that shows that she's still awake at 3.50am when she has class at 8am the next day. He knows it's not easy at all and he hates the way the dark circles under her eyes seem to be taking up more and more of her face each day. He wishes there was more he could do aside from taking her in his arms and holding her while she tries valiantly to sleep.

And one day it happens.

She's lying in bed, curled up at his side (It took an awful lot of haranguing on her end to get him to sleep with her; there wasn't space for another bed or couch in his room and he had to work too so it was out of the question for him to keep sleeping on the floor) while he reads another book. She's looking up at him, admiring the way his reading glasses make him look even more scholarly than he usually does and suddenly, she feels strange.

"Arthur?"

"Hmmm." He looks down at her, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"I feel strange."

"What kind of strange?" He sounds like her doctor now, even as he puts his book aside and takes off his reading glasses.

"Like. My eyelids feel really heavy. And I think I'm slurring." She blinks and tries to keep her eyes open. "I bet it was the chicken you made. Did you put in any wine? You know I'm not good with wine." She snuggles in even closer to him, closing her eyes.

"Ari," His voice holds a shard of laughter in it. "That's called being tired. Your body's ready to go to sleep."

He settles down beside her, propping himself up on one elbow even as she yawns widely. "Oh good," she smiles up lazily at him. "I've a test tomorrow anyway." And as she presses her head into his side, he keeps perfectly still until her breathing becomes deep and even and she's surely asleep. Its only when he's sure that she's completely out, does he edge her off him so that he can turn out the lights and then lies down completely beside her, holding her and dropping one last kiss on her head.

And that night, the both of them sleep.

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Good/bad? Review please! (:


	3. Anger

2 more chapters to go, I hope! (:

I love Inception. I wanna watch it again! :D

Thanks for all the lovely reviews you guys have given me!

* * *

She wants to shake him.

She cannot believe he is still sitting there so calmly, almost as if he is carved out of stone, and she fights the urge to rush toward him, shake him, and smash to bits that calm veneer that he's exuding. She feels her anger, as clearly as she can feel the sting of her fingernails cutting into her palm, but she pushes it down. She tries to keep control, and so it is with her voice lowered to hide the trembling timbre it's taken on that she asks, "Why can't I be involved? I've done the Fischer job; this won't be any much harder. You know I can do it."

He hates himself for making her question her self-worth. She's probably one of the most efficient, the most capable team members you could have on an inception team- any man worth his salt and with eyes can see that. Which was precisely why Eames requested for the _both_ of them to work with him on this job that he'd recently been pulled into. And yet, even though he knows she's perfect for this job, he hesitates. He doesn't want her to get sucked into this dreamscape which has consumed his whole life- he wants to her to enjoy the normality of her own without being touched, _damaged _again by this whole mess. He wants her happy, protected and safe. With him.

And yet seeing her furious self standing over him makes his heart twist in a way and question himself if he's done the right thing by saying no to Eames on her behalf.

"I don't doubt that," he replies slowly to her unspoken question. "I really don't Ari." He pauses, hoping the familiar nickname will calm her down and when it has no visible effect on her, he forges on. "I just want you to be safe. I just…" He falters slightly, trying to piece together the right words. "I just don't want you to get hurt. I can't have you in my work scope, not now and not like this- it'd hurt too much for me to lose you."

He sees her eyes falter over their anger then, soften and she sinks down on the couch beside him, and automatically his hands reach for hers, fingers tangling together in perfect symmetry and that simple action seems to calm both of them down and they fall silent.

"Arthur," She likes calling him by his first name- she thinks it's cute that he actually has a nickname for her, but the formality of a full name feels more like him. "I'm not a kid. I promise, I'll take good care of myself while we're in there, stay close behind Eames and you." She sighs then. "But you do know, you can't protect me from everything."

Everything.

His mind flickers back like a badly lit bulb, back down the hallways of memories just from that simple word and he remembers, his last conversation with Mal as clearly as he remembers yesterday.

"_Hey Mal." He lets himself through the sliding door, pulling it shut behind him. "Have you seen…?" His voice trails off even as he sees his best friend's wife, sitting at the table, staring at her hands. And what she holds is a knife, the sharp edge so tantalizingly poised against the skin of her delicate fingers. _

"_Mal!" His voice is unusually sharp even as he takes lightning quick steps across the room to yank the knife out of her clasped hands and tosses it across the room. "What're you thinking?" He chastises her softly, pulling out a chair to sit beside her. He has never really been close to his best friend's wife, close enough anyway, but he senses rather than knows that the woman who he knows as Dom's wife- beautiful, vivacious and entirely creative- is not the same woman sitting in front of him. She feels now, like an empty shell- a shell that could just break away, its fragments being washed away and lost in the sea. While he understands the distractedness now that Dom has been showing at work, he also feels fear, slowly wrapping its tendrils like ivy around his heart at how, how in the world, smart, beautiful Mal could have become like this. How it could happen to him. _

_She turns to him with a hazy smile and eyes that aren't really there, making her beauty all the more chilling. "Oh Arthur, you're here too. In this dream." _

_Instinctively, his hand slides into his pocket to touch his totem- and the hard solid weight of it assures him of the reality he's in. He speaks gently, like he would to a child, "Mal, this is reality. This isn't a dream." _

_She laughs then, a light tinkling laugh that feels like it could shatter glass and sets his nerves on edge. "No wonder why you're here then. Dom is always so dedicated to his work. I see you even show up in his dreams." She speaks as though to an invisible, silent, third party and it makes him feel very afraid that she not even takes heed of what she is saying- almost as if he himself is not real. _

"_Mal." He can no longer stop the hard edge that his voice has taken on. "Please, listen to me. You're in reality. This is life. This is not a dream. I'm real. So are you." _

"_Why, Arthur," She turns surprised eyes on him. "You've never been angry at me before." Emotions flicker across her face; hurt, puzzlement, astonishment- and finally a bemused little expression that makes him feel even more afraid. "I must tell this to the real Arthur when I wake up. He won't believe he got angry at me." Her expression melts then into confusion. "Then again, Dom has been getting upset with me too lately." She looks bewildered, frightened, a kid trapped in an adult's body. _

_He is very afraid now and though he knows it is a cowardly move, he stands from the table- only to have her grip the side of his coat. _

"_Arthur?" Her voice is kitten weak and he cannot bring himself to look into her eyes full of terror. "Can you please convince Dom that we should go back to reality? He seems," she gulps here and he cannot shake the horror that is slowly seeping into his system like a poison. "Convinced that this is reality and he doesn't want to leave." She loosens her hold on his coat, looking down into her lap then. "I want to go home." _

_He nods curtly then, not trusting his voice, and making sure there's no more sharp knives nearby or anything potentially dangerous, he leaves. _

_That's the last time he saw Mal. _

"Arthur?"

He snaps back to reality then, and his eyes refocus on the girl sitting in front on him. They travel over her soft brown her, her slim hands wrapped in his and the dark, expressive eyes that emanate so much life, so much emotions and he knows, he does not want to risk another Mal. He knows he would rather die than let her come close to losing control her grip on reality. He loves her too much. And if he loses her in the process, which is an unthinkable prospect in itself- it _would_ be so much better than putting her close to that horrific scenario.

And with that thought in mind, he stands, disentangling their hands.

She looks up at him then and she wonders just what is it he was thinking of just a few minutes ago- something unpleasant no doubt, from the way shards of what she can only call fear shadow across his usually calm and stoic face. It too makes her scared- since Arthur has always been the calm, invincible one- so it must be something very bad to make him afraid too. He is entirely too silent, too silent for her liking and it heightens the sense of foreboding in her. "Arthur?"

Her prompt seems to jolt him to life and there is something new in his eyes- determination. "Ariadne. I can't let you do this job." His eyes meet her, lock on hers and she sees the intensity of his certainty; he is not going to budge. And for some inane reason, that causes anger to flare up in her anew again.

"Can't or won't?" She stands too then, all too acutely aware of how much taller he is as compared to her and she plants her hands resolutely on her hips to give her something to hold onto even as she fights back.

"Won't." His voice is steely now, and she can hear anger buzzing just barely beneath the controlled tone he's adopting. "I won't let you do it."

"And if I insist?" She's really pushing it now, she knows. She's never seen Arthur get angry with her before, but right now, she wants him to crack. She wants him to yell at her, to lose it in a big way.

And he seems to take the bait. She sees him gearing up for a fight; from the way his chest rises sharply, and how he draws himself up, ostentatiously to yell at her and suddenly, it's almost as if another thought occurs to him and all the fight seems to leave him and his arms drop to his sides. Suddenly, she is cold and even more afraid of what is going to come next.

"Then," he lets out his breath, slowly and yet he cannot disguise how his whole body is shaking at what he will say next. "I want you to leave."

The words are said so softly that she barely hears them, can barely believe them. And when they do sink in, she feels the floorboards reeling beneath her. "Excuse me?"

Her voice makes him flinch and he can hear the hurt that taints her voice, as well as the disbelief. But he swallows back all else and pushes on. "I said, I want you to leave." He raises his gaze to meet her eyes briefly before addressing a spot just above her head. "I'm your only link to this world of inception. If you insist on taking this job with me, I'll insist that you leave. Or… I will leave you."

His words are matter-of-fact but he hurts with each word that he says. He makes them deliberately cold, unfeeling- designed to push her away when it's all he can do not to leave her alone. He wants her with him so bad. But he can't, and he doesn't want her to become like Mal. And so it is with a breaking heart that he watches her wilt under the sting of his words although she tries to hide it.

"You want me to leave?" Her voice is clear, high, cold and shaking and he winces at the pain that underlines her every word. "Fine. I will."

She moves around the apartment then, pulling out that same first messenger bag she brought and stuffing whatever random articles she can find into it. Her actions are frenzied; almost animal like in their grief but she keeps her head down, not wanting him to see the tears that are forming and building in her eyes. She decides that's enough- she cannot bear to be in their apartment, yes _their _apartment anymore, she will come back for the rest another day- and heads towards the door, the fact that he has just been standing there for the past few minutes, watching her, not even stopping her, giving her great pain.

She pulls on the same sneakers that she arrived in, reaches for his coat so instinctively, but instead, pulls her scarf from the coat hanger and winds it around her neck with trembling fingers and before she can say one last thing that she will regret, she is gone, banging the door behind her and letting in the cold November air.

And he sinks down onto the couch, burying his head in his hands, knowing it is entirely his fault, wanting to run after her but yet too proud in the thought that he has done the right thing despite the tears that he's aching to cry.

* * *

What do you think? Review Review Review! :D


	4. Again

Again, I do not own Inception!

I've loved writing this fic. Its been too long since I stayed away. Hope you guys enjoy it!

This is for everyone who loves Eames! He's totally cute (:

* * *

Months fly by.

He completes the job with Eames, and Yusuf and a new architect that Eames had scrounged up from somewhere, a young boy barely _her_ age and with half _her_ creative potential. He doesn't realize that he's showing this in his interactions with the boy until Eames pulls him aside and hisses, "Arthur darling, I know you have extremely high standards that only you yourself can fulfil but at this rate, your condescension of the boy is going to drive him off our team and off a cliff!"

He feels the hot rush of embarrassment- had he really been all that mean to the boy- and shame- for comparing so relentlessly but Eames can pick this up. "I know you want her here." The forger lets him go and runs a hand through his sandy coloured hair. "For the record, so do Yusuf and I. But she isn't here. And we have a job to complete. So let's just see it through and you can go back and kiss and make up. Okay?"

Eames' last words cause twin pangs in his; of embarrassment, and hope. That yes, perhaps it isn't too late and that he can find a way to fix this mess. God, he misses her. He'd said that he didn't want her coming into his work life and messing it up, but even when she isn't physically around; he thinks of her so damn much, she shows up in his dreams (which always evokes twin sighs from Eames and Yusuf) and whenever he looks over at her desk, he feels a pain shoot through him- reminding him that he's wrong, and that he should have never asked her to leave his life.

Cause he can't leave her.

* * *

Finally after 3 long months, the job is done.

He packs up with more enthusiasm than he's had for the past few weeks (drawing raised eyebrows from Yusuf and Eames together) and with hurried goodbyes, he's gone, back to his apartment, where he somehow hopes in his heart of hearts that she's still there, she hadn't left and she's waiting for him. That mere thought just makes him risk his neck crossing busy streets without looking for traffic; makes his feet move faster, faster, faster until he's almost running and he bursts into his apartment in a way that no one would believe Arthur could.

It's empty.

He drops his bag at the doorway and walks in, quiet now, all the excitement gone out of him. It is his apartment again, all white smooth, minimalist lines and completely neat and tidy. Nothing looks out of place, yet there is that fine finish of dust on every surface to signify that no one had been living here for the past few weeks, months even- and it is with that realization that his heart sinks to hit the floor.

He has never hated tidiness like he does now.

He tries to recreate the way it was when she was around. Intentionally, he sweeps a vase onto its side, so the liquid and stalks fall onto the carpet, creating a huge damp spot. Haphazardly he takes out a few books and scatters them all over the table, the floor, the bed. And he stands back to admire his handiwork- and yet the fact cannot be disguised. She is gone. And without her clutter, he is truly alone again, and his mess is what it is- just a personal mess that does nothing to prove that there might be someone else sharing this life with him.

He looks at his watch. If he hurries he might be able to catch her before she leaves school. He doesn't know her timetable this semester, but he could try.

And with that, he's gone out of the apartment again.

* * *

He's determined that he won't talk to her; not now anyway, at least until he's had the chance to properly think out what he can say. He knows himself; he's tired, upset and prone to irrationality, so he'd rather run the risk of being a stalker and following her, than blathering some nonsense he'd regret later. So here he is; sane, upright, and gallant Arthur, following her like some creepy pervert. He sighs to himself, being careful to keep a distance from her on the street even as she takes another turn that doesn't lead to her apartment. His curiosity is piqued for sure and he wonders what in the world is she doing and where is she going.

He watches her turn into a café, the door tinkling shut behind her and for the sake of not looking conspicuous, he buys a newspaper and stands at the doorway rifling through it, not knowing that he's turned it upside down and his eyes watch as she takes a seat… opposite this _boy._

What the….

He narrows his eyes hoping to glean more from the scene. That _thing_ in there is smiling as she takes her seat opposite her and he tries to tamper down the hot surge of fury he feels when Ariadne, _his _Ari, smiles back, takes her seat and the both of them jump into an animated conversation. And him, being the lovesick fool he is, can't help but run his eyes over her frame. She looks good, same as usual- except maybe a little bit skinnier- at that he frowns. But he's not here to watch her; he's here to watch this _boy._

What could she see in him? He wonders to himself, not hiding the fact anymore that he is openly staring at them from outside the café and drawing puzzled stares from a couple seated beside the window. Grudgingly, he admits that the boy is rather…adequate looking, with light coffee coloured hair and piercing green eyes. Yet, Ari wouldn't be as superficial as to go for looks.

He sighs then. He knows he should concede defeat to this unknown…_punk _who's apparently bested him, and he bites his lip to distract him from the sudden bleakness that he feels but it doesn't work. Wanting to leave and yet, unable to tear himself away, he watches like a man transfixed in his own horror.

And then, that _boy_ reaches forward and touches her arm gently and he snaps.

He wishes he wasn't Arthur; the calm controlled one, but a man who could just stalk in there, slam his fist hard into that boy's face, break it and grab her and leave.

And suddenly, almost as if he's dreamt it, he's standing in the café, a smudge of blood on his right knuckle, her horrified face and protests beside that boy who's lying on the floor and a throbbing in his right hand that feels all too real to be a dream.

Horror dawns on him- God, he has just hit a kid- and the voices of the other patrons, her voice start to sink in, they grow louder in his ears and he backs out of the café, walking, running, just to be away from it all.

* * *

What is he thinking?

She's stunned as she tries to help her friend up, and as quickly as she can, she makes her excuses, still in a daze and she runs out of the café. This is the first time she's seen him in three months and she's never seen him like this before. She remembers as she runs; how her friend had touched her arm, gestured to him standing outside- looking straight at her and her friend with what could only be described as a look of fury and pain. How he stormed in, planted his fist firmly in her friend's face…and all of a sudden, click, his face melted back into his typical Arthur expression, only this time filled with horror and the sudden realization of what he'd done. She starts to sprint, trying to get a sense of where he might have gone when she spots a familiar looking coat- his coat. And she follows him now, even as he turns corner after corner- only to hit a dead end.

He turns away from her, hasn't seen her and she watches as he presses his face into the palm of his hand, in obvious distress. Distress has never been Arthur.

She clears her throat then and the sound startles him out of his misery as he turns around to see her. "Hi."

"Hello." He looks the same to her as he did three months ago, perhaps a little more tired. She doesn't like the look of those huge eye bags or the cuts on his chin where he cut himself shaving- Arthur doesn't slip up. She decides to be brave, takes a few more steps until she is closer to him and she reaches for his right hand, warm and big in her own small one. "Does it hurt?"

He shakes his head mutely, and she, still looking at his fist, pulls her floral scarf off her neck and wraps it around his knuckles gently. She can smell him, Old spice, peppermint and coffee and the smell finds her close to tears. God, she's missed him. Since that awful day when he told her to leave, she barely made it out of the apartment before she decided she couldn't go back to her apartment. It reminded her too much of being alone and… him not being around and so she'd lived in a hotel (ridiculous idea for a student) for a week before plucking up the courage to go back to her place and his place to pick up the rest of the stuff.

It had been a nightmare, trying to adjust to life without him. She could barely sleep every night, just going to classes and coming back to an empty apartment. She'd become obsessively neat, knowing that it was a part of him that she should try to let go off but couldn't bring herself to. And finally, just a week ago, things had almost felt normal. Like how they'd been before inception, before Dom, Eames, Yusuf, Fischer, Saito and him.

Yet she missed him.

She finishes tying a knot in her scarf and lets go of his fist, backing away a few more steps. There is still silence and she looks at her loafers. Brown, tie ups and they were on sale. "He was just a friend from a architecture project before."

He cannot stop the rush of relief, although suspicion lingers but hearing her say it out loud is enough for now. He looks at her then, head bowed, and he wishes that he had the power to turn back time; just as easily as inception comes to him. He wishes that there was never this mess to begin with, that she could still be his. And most of all, he wishes he had the bravery to tell her out loud for once that he loves her.

She keeps looking at her shoes. Damn it, there's a smudge on one side. She should really clean her shoes. She clears her throat one more time, "I should get back to see if Lawrence is okay."

Lawrence. He stiffens, and then chastens himself for this insane jealousy that's making him act like a 12 year old boy all over again. He is 27. He should act his age. "Yes." He coughs, looks away. "Give him my apologies."

She nods then curtly, and turns and starts to walk away without a goodbye or a hug, still looking at her shoes. Left, right, left right…

"Ari."

She stops then, and turns slowly, for the first time raising her eyes to look at him and her heart breaks.

He does not look like his composed self that she knows and loves so well. He looks forlorn, alone- a shade of the incredibly strong and silent man. She knows that it is because of her. And she wants nothing better than to lose herself in his arms all over again.

"I'm sorry." He swallows. He struggles to find the right words so he doesn't screw this up again. "I… I didn't want you to be like Mal." He pushes into her silence. "I saw her Ari. Just before she died. And she was like you. She was beautiful, smart, creative- and when I last saw her, she was so gone…" His voice breaks then and he bites his lip so hard, he can almost taste the blood. The old fear wells up in him, the fear that this could happen to anyone he loves, he cares about- to her. "I just… I just didn't want it to happen to you. I'm so…"

And before he knows it, she is running towards him and he is holding her in his arms and he can't tell if it's him or her who's shaking in his arms. He draws back and kisses her, no hesitation and lets himself sink into the familiarity of her. She tastes the same, of apricot lip gloss and her lips are so soft. He can feel her deepening the kiss and he kisses her almost hungrily, with a passion that is so rare for him. And finally, when oxygen is needed, they both break away but he refuses to let her go and pulls her to his chest again.

"Move back in with me."

She tilts her head upwards to look at him.

"Move back in with me, Ari." He looks away for a brief second. "I miss you. And I want you back with me."

She isn't quite sure what to say. She's not sure if she can handle a repeat of this and he sees this in her eyes. "I promise, I'll never leave you. I can't."

She looks him in the eye then. "Can't or won't?" Her counter is soft this time, not like the previous time and he smiles, just a small one then.

"Won't," He corrects himself. "I won't leave you."

* * *

Ending's a little sucky. One last chapter...?

Review! Love you all.


	5. Joke

FINALLY: The Epilogue.

Thank you guys for all the reviews and comments and everything. Its been so great to write this. I hope you guys like this last chappie!

As always Inception is the intellectual property of Christopher Nolan (:

* * *

It's just another night- another sleepless one that is.

She's learnt how to make sleeplessness her friend- no longer is it something she's afraid of, but a new normality for her after the whole inception experience. It has taken her two years to learn, to stop feeling afraid- and she thinks partly, the reason for her fears being gone is partially because she has someone to share it with now.

She turns on her side, a smile gracing her lips even as she looks up the handsome man, with perfect hair (even at bedtime) reading the papers, his reading glasses balanced symmetrically on his nose. She loves him. It's been two beautiful years; and even as she looks up at him, memories flood through her mind like a speeding train-most recently of all her graduation, him, Dom, Eames, Yusuf all proudly clapping for her, his eyes shining the brightest of all at her. Him meeting her parents; the old school manner he has which charmed her parents and caused her mother to pull her aside, whispering, "Ask if he has any brothers for your sister!" Them visiting his parents grave; that memory sobers her a little, how his usually stoic, calm face crumbled a little and how tightly she'd wound her arms around him to remind him that he wasn't alone- he has her.

But he's here now, and they have each other.

She smiles to herself then, a bemused smile, a tiny idea beginning to blossom in her head even as recent questions from the team at her graduation resurface in her mind. It's not such a bad idea.

She pulls the papers out of his hand and tosses it to the floor, ignoring his quizzical half-smile and she gently untangles his reading glasses (which she finds incredibly adorable) and places them on the bedside even as she rolls on top of him, kissing him deeply.

"I was reading that, you know." His voice is amused when they break away, but he doesn't sound unhappy to her.

"I know." She leans her head sideways then on his chest, listening to the way his heartbeat sounds, strong, alive and steady.

They both fall into a contented silence before she starts again. "So, when are you going to ask me to marry you?"

He starts a little then, his mind jumping to the small little velvet box that is currently pressing into his lower back through the plush fabric of his pillow and he tries not to look guilty (Thank God she's not looking at him). How in the world had she found out? Had he been too obvious? He clears his throat then, trying to seem unruffled by the question and as if it had never occurred to him before. "Which lady asks that of a gentleman?"

She smiles a little then to herself. That is so typically Arthur, and try as he might to sound totally nonchalant about it, his heart can't lie on his behalf and she can hear it speeding up where she's from. She thinks it's the best sound she's ever heard. She decides to be evil and turn up the heat a little.

"Oh," She laughs a little. "Eames was asking me that at my graduation." She can practically hear him making a mental note in his head to kill Eames the next time he sees the forger and the thought makes laughter bubble up in her but she represses it firmly. Now's not the time to give the game away.

"Oh?" She has to give it to him for trying so hard, to pretend it doesn't matter. Honestly, she doesn't know if he's going to propose but… it would be nice to know. Everyone's been asking her, and she hates giving that half shrug which is barely a response, let alone an answer.

"Yeah," She drags out her words, turning the screw a little tighter. "Yusuf got a little upset. Said that if he wasn't invited, he'd spike all our drinks with goodness knows what. And Dom said that we'd better do it quick before Philippa and James get too old to be flower girl and ring boy."

If he had been drinking anything, he probably would have choked on it and died. "Oh really?" He manages to say, while thinking grimly that he's going to kill the team for saying such a thing and jumping the gun before him. Really, you would think they were all marrying her, not him. He cannot hide the disgruntlement on his face now, but it is replaced quickly with a sobering thought. Why would she be asking such a question? Wouldn't most girls usually wait for the guy to ask? Unless… she wants to pre-empt him and somehow avoid getting married to him. His heart constricts at the very thought but he scolds himself mentally for being such a dunce; of course she loves him. And if there was any one she'd want to marry, it would be him.

She looks up at him then and she sees an altogether too-serious face and she feels regret and guilt blossom up in her for pushing him too far. She should have known. Of course he doesn't want to marry her; why would marriage be on his cards now, even with that new job coming up? She cannot shake the stab of disappointment that she feels, but she tries not to let it show. Instinctively, she reaches up to push another long, languid kiss onto his lips and his arms snake around her waist, such that he now rolls her onto her back and he towers over her.

When they break apart, she reaches up to push a hair that has escaped from his perfectly slicked back hair. "I was joking." She concedes quietly then, avoiding his eyes.

"What?"

"I was kidding. About the whole marriage thing," She smiles then, guiltily but she knows that her smile holds a sad tinge too. "Eames, Yusuf and Dom never said that. I was just… teasing you." His silence which she thinks, means his quiet anger at her, forces her to ramble on. "It's okay Arthur; I was really just kidding about the whole marriage thing. And I know you've got so much in your life now; let's just take everything slowly. Okay?"

He looks down at her; his beautiful Ariadne, his beautiful, brave Ariadne who says it doesn't matter when it obviously does and he knows then that in that heartbeat he wants to marry her and the quicker the better. He doesn't answer her question; his own ideas starting to take root in his head, even as he lowers himself to kiss her on her forehead, her nose, everywhere and finally her lips. "I love you." He says as a means to effectively end the conversation.

"I love you too." She yawns then and he rolls off her, even as she curls up next to him. "Just so you know," Her voice is becoming heavier and heavier with sleep. "I would have said yes."

She can't see his smile then, wider than it has ever been before nor does she feel the bed shift a few minutes later, as he gets out of bed to make a few phone calls.

* * *

She is awakened rudely, by the sound of her mobile phone ringing and blindly, her body still heavy with sleep, she reaches out for the phone on the bedside. "Hello?"

"Congratulations, darling! When did it happen?" Eames' unmistakable British accent travels down the line and she groans at the amount of pep in it.

"Eames? What in the world?"

"Oh hold on, Yusuf wants to say something." She hears that crackle in the background and suddenly the chemist's voice fills her ear. "Ariadne! I was so glad to hear I've been invited! If not," His voice takes on an ominous little note then. "I would have been forced to make my presence known, you know? Spike the drinks with a little sedative… whoa!"

She is perplexed beyond belief, and starting to get a little cranky now. "Yusuf, I do not know what you're saying at all."

"Oh? Hold on Ariadne, Dom wants to speak to you." Has the whole world gone invariably mad, she wonders grouchily. Is it some new inception fad to wake innocent sleepers up and babble about something totally nonsensical?

"Ariadne!" Dom's deep voice comes through loud and clear on her end, and she can hear the happiness in his voice. "I'm so happy for you and Arthur. And of course Philippa and James will be the flower girl and ring boy- I'd be offended if you didn't ask."

Those few phrases ring a somewhat distant bell in her mind- the conversation with Arthur last night. Is she still dreaming? Somewhat more awake now, she reaches for her totem on the bedside table and flicks it, watching it fall to the side. No, she's very much in reality. Just as she's setting her totem upright again, holding the phone with her right hand, something on her left hand catches her attention- and makes her breath catch in her throat.

It is a simple band, silver and she draws it closer for inspection. It looks vintage, intricate carvings all around it and it fits her finger perfectly. For that brief moment, she finds herself close to tears even as happiness, insane joy bursts out of her and she cannot decide whether she wants to laugh or cry. The door closes on her right and she looks up to see him, standing there, watching her with a smile that looks and feels exactly like hers through blurred eyes.

"Ariadne?" Dom's voice is puzzled now on the other line and she laughs then.

"Dom, I'm going to have to call you all back." Her voice is shaky now, filled with unspoken laughter. "Okay?"

She doesn't wait for a response but puts down the phone and jumps off the bed, running towards him until she collides in a huge hug with him. Her arms go so tightly around his neck and his around her waist even as he picks her up and spins her around gently in one circle.

When he finally lets her down, she steps back, brushing away at tears with one hand and looking up accusingly at him. "You still didn't ask."

He looks confused for a few minutes, before recognition dawns and his eyebrows go up in a silent challenge. "You told me you'd say yes."

She opens her mouth to counter that it's the principle of the matter, but before she can, he kneels down, takes her hand and she can barely believe it is happening.

"Ari," He smiles up at her, "I love you. Will you, please, please be my wife?" He looks up at her unabashedly, with all the love and tenderness that she's ever seen in his eyes and she nods, unable to say anything but so incredibly happy she feels like she might burst and he swoops her up in another tight hug that takes her breath away.

And she knows that this is forever. This is her reality.

* * *

And so it goes (:

Review one last time please!


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